


The Gospel According to John Watson

by phoapostrophes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of religion, Temporary Character Death, probably blasphemy, slightly canon divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 10:32:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5453456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoapostrophes/pseuds/phoapostrophes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson was not particularly religious. Sherlock Holmes was ridiculously religious-- he worshipped science as a religion, quoted science journals and medical texts as a priest would quote the bible, blessed the hallowed doors of any lab with intense dedication.</p><p>So, John Watson the free thinker and Sherlock Holmes the science zealot spent most of their time solving crimes. Until, of course, they stopped.</p><p>(Also known as a very brief I-don't-even-know-what-this-is fic of what could've happened after Sherlock "died", with several extended religion metaphors that I'm pretty sure is blasphemy. *shrugs*)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gospel According to John Watson

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a long time ago, but I never got around to finishing it. Eventually, I forgot where it was supposed to go. But fun-fact: there is no actual beginning or end to a story. So I just thought TO HELL WITH IT and cut it at a place that seemed appropriate to end with. Hope it's okay!
> 
> This is my second fic ever please be kind aye :)

John Watson was not particularly religious. Sure, Afghanistan had taught him a thing or two about faith in the unknown. Heaven knew (hah, heaven knew!) that it felt like divine intervention for every soldier that miraculously survived, although, more often than not, it was the death of a comrade, a friend, that made the higher powers even more... attractive. War seemed like practise for eternal hell, and all they did was sin ('Thou shalt not kill' was a joke and a death wish when it came to the battleground). It seemed nearly impossible to stay true to any kind of religion or belief when you've seen the worst in men. No, John Watson was decidedly grey on matters such as religion.

What John knew, however, was that Sherlock Holmes was ridiculously religious-- he worshipped science as a religion, quoted science journals and medical texts as a priest would quote the bible, blessed the hallowed doors of any lab with intense dedication. Sherlock Holmes was most decidedly a fervent follower of SCIENCE. Science with a capital S and an exclamation mark at the end.

So, John Watson the free thinker and Sherlock Holmes the science zealot spent most of their time solving crimes. Until, of course, they stopped.

And John figures, of course drama queen Sherlock Holmes would have to die. And of course it would be suicide. And of course he'd make John witness every second of it. Oh, won't you watch me, John, the great Sherlock Holmes and my last trick. Oh, John, don't take your eyes off me. Of course--

*

Life after Sherlock, unsurprisingly, does not stop. It's impossibly slow, impossibly stagnant, impossibly... boring. John still has work at the clinic, and occasionally, Lestrade calls him in for a case (for what, he has no idea; it's not like he's any use without Sherlock). But everything else becomes a routine, just the daily grind, like life has lost the chase. John hadn't even realized how much his life had sucked without Sherlock until Sherlock swooped in, turned everything topsy-turvy, and then left John to deal with a new perspective of a world he feels like he has never actually properly looked at.

It was like all his life, he had been aimless, and then Sherlock became his navigator and his destination all at the same time. His true north, that left him in a gust of Look at me John, watch me jump, watch me d--

*

Without Sherlock, the flat feels bigger than it's ever been. Bigger, without his notorious knack of leaving things lying around, without the experiments in the kitchen and the constant strains of the violin at some of the most inopportune moments. Honestly, none of these things feel like reasons to miss Sherlock, yet they do make him miss Sherlock. It's ridiculous.

Another post-Sherlock ridiculous thing? The talking-to-thin-air habit that he can't drop. Sherlock had always been nearby, hovering close, and anything John ever had to say was always said there and then. What was the point of keeping anything to himself if Sherlock was right next to him, listening? Not just that, but taking care of Sherlock had become second nature to him. It was just a natural reaction to ask if Sherlock wanted a cup of tea or a biscuit or the lights switched on.

So started the somewhat embarrassing ritual of asking the empty house if it's eaten in the past five hours. Not that anyone witnesses his slip of tongue. It was always more embarrassment that he couldn't shake the habit, couldn't get over the fact that Sherlock Holmes, brilliant, genius, mad, was gone. It felt like a failure every time John forgot. How had his flatmate become such a huge part of his life?

He supposed he'd never have believe it if he hadn't witnessed the fall. Keep your eyes on me, he had said. Bloody good use his eyes were. If it hadn't been for the blood on concrete and the pure stench of death, red and iron and DEAD, he wouldn't have believed it. People died. Sherlock didn't.

Well, he was wrong, wasn't he.

Wasn't he?

*

John Watson, decidedly unreligious in every sense of the word, finds religion on a sunny Saturday afternoon.

It's an unremarkable Saturday afternoon. John is moping about in the house. (He can't remember what he used to do on Saturdays before Sherlock-- probably went down to the pub or something, who knows?) The clock strikes one and his stomach makes grumbly noises that tell him it's time for food. Sustenance.

At one o'clock on this muggy, unremarkable Saturday, John asks, out of habit, "I'm making tea, would you like some?"

And precisely a beat after, on this normal, unremarkable Saturday, a familiar voice replies, "Yes, please."

Who knew two words could make John Watson want to cry hallelujah?

*

Maybe he'd always known. Maybe he just didn't want to know it. But the fact remains that John Watson has probably always been just a little religious, even if it is only in Sherlock Holmes he trusts.

And maybe one day, Sherlock will find it in him to trust him back.

*

"Ouch! What was that for?"

"Sorry, I just needed to know you were..."

"Not dead?" Sherlock offers.

"Alive," John says.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to read more of my crap, my writing blog is pmwriteng.tumblr.com! Drop me an ask or something, I'm chill! :)


End file.
